


The Christmas Waltz

by chooken



Series: 12 Days of Westlife [7]
Category: Westlife
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Christmas Party, Compromise, Cuddling & Snuggling, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Secret Relationship, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8908384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: The hotel ballroom was beautiful, crowded, the music reaching through even to here, as they slow-danced in the storage closet near the kitchens, hidden from the rest of the world.
Inspired by The Christmas Waltz, which was originally recorded by Frank Sinatra, though the gorgeous cover by She & Him is well worth a listen.





	

****Kian smiled, closing his eyes against the soft press of lips against his throat. It was dark, back here. Smelled of dust and damp, stacked chairs crowding them in, one unfolded and leaned under the door handle. It wouldn't keep people out, in a pinch, but at least it was a warning in case they were interrupted.

“What did you get me for Christmas?”

“Nothing,” Kian murmured, moving in closer. He felt Shane pout against his skin. “Might have put a few suggestions in with Santa.”

“Thanks.” A soft laugh was brushed in with the next kiss. The hotel ballroom was beautiful, an enormous Christmas tree dominating the middle of the floor, chandeliers flickering like candles above the crowd. Packed out there, the music reaching through even to here, in the storage closet down near the kitchens, beating a slow three-quarter time.

Kian moved to it, feeling Shane move with him. A careful, almost clumsy waltz they'd fallen into, feet shuffling in a circle on the scuffed floor.

“Love you,” Kian whispered. When Shane looked up, his eyes were brimming with tears, like the frost on the windows they'd passed coming in. Separately, of course. They'd all been invited. Kian hadn't wanted to come, really, had wanted to spend their last day before Christmas together.

Shane had said no. They'd be missed. He was the sensible one, like that. Always was. Kian supposed he was too, otherwise they'd be doing this properly, dancing on the gold-lit floor with everyone else, not hidden away.

Kian had arrived first. Waited near the bar while Nicky came in with Georgina. While Mark did too. Shane had arrived ten minutes after, eyes already searching, brightening when they'd found Kian through the crowd. He'd smiled. Shane had smiled back, navigating around the string quartet they could still hear playing. The song stopped. Another one started. Kian pulled him closer.

“Give my love to your family?”

“Thanks.” Kian smiled. “Ditto.” He pecked the end of Shane's nose. “Maybe I can sneak out after dinner.”

“Maybe.” He wouldn't, probably. It was nice to dream. “I'll think of you.” He took a deep breath. “I'm really going to miss you this Christmas.”

“I miss you every Christmas,” Kian murmured. Three and counting. The decision had been a hard one, gone over so many times it hadn't seemed real. Not by the time they'd nodded, and agreed. That it was just easier to keep it secret. For the band. For the others. To avoid the scrutiny and the scandal and all the rest of it.

It didn't feel easy. It never had.

Especially not at this time of year.

“Kiss me,” Shane breathed. It was a plea. Kian drew him in, felt lips part against his, welcome him in. A tongue curled, slow and comfortable, tasting him as though they didn't know each other inside out already. Hands closed on his hips, pulling them together. Kian moaned, clinging to his dance-partner a little too tight when he felt the lustful, dizzy rush of want against him.

“Not here,” he laughed, when it parted. Shane grinned, cheeky.

“When, then?” Teeth bit into a soft lower lip. Kian shook his head, smirking. “After New Year?”

“I...” They both sobered. Foreheads rested together, eyes searching each other. Worth it. Of course it was worth it. The hiding and sacrifice. The waiting. The scheduling. The pretending like it was completely fair to be apart for so long at what was meant to be the time you spent with the people you loved most. “Shane...”

“I want you,” Shane said. “Want you.”

“In here?”

“No.” Darkening eyes flicked furtively to the barely-secure door. Back to him. He was pulled in tighter, and Kian hummed a moan at the feel of him, hard and wanting. “Book a room,” Shane decided.

“What, upstairs?” Kian laughed in surprise. “That'll look suspicious.”

“No, it'll look like I'm a bit drunk and you're taking care of me.” Shane kissed his cheek. “Book a room,” he urged. “Last one before Christmas. Let's make it special.”

“You're supposed to be the sensible one,” Kian pointed out, felt Shane shrug against him. “You must be drunk, or you'd know that's a really bad idea.”

“I don't care.” The words were muffled by the kisses Shane was biting up his throat. Hands locked onto his arse, yanking him in. “Book a room or I'm going down on you right here.” Kian gasped, eyes rolling shut when one of the hands travelled round, cupping him through his nice suit trousers. “Tell me you don't want it,” he purred. “Tell me you don't.”

“I... Jesus, Shane...” He gulped. “That's really hot, but...”

“Here, then.” Shane was already slithering down. The zip slid down with a purr, and Kian stood helplessly while clever fingers parted the fabric. Lips spread around him, mouthing to the cotton of his boxers, sending them wet and hot within moments. His hips tilted into the heat of it, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Shane...”

“Mm...” He was cool, suddenly, flinching as elastic was pulled over him. When he looked down Shane was licking his lips and his own trousers were starting to slip down his thighs. He shot a nervous look at the closed door.

“I'll book a room,” he gasped. “Just...”

“Too late.” It probably was. He couldn't go out there in this state. Didn't have much choice a moment later, when Shane engulfed him, lips an endless kiss down the length of him. He stammered a moan, fingers carding into dark hair.

“Ah...” He bit his lip, trying to stay quiet. It was noisy out there, though. No-one would hear them, not over the strings, the people talking and laughing. Other couples, too caught up in each other to notice that two people had slipped away.

He heard a glass smash, a smattering of laughter. The music was slow, a romantic dance. Dark eyes looked up at him, teasing.

“What are we doing?” he muttered. A shoulder hitched in a shrug. Against his better judgement, Kian sank into it. Shane, playing him slowly. The way Shane knew he liked. The same way Kian knew Shane liked it fast and rough sometimes, giggly and tender others. How he could tell, from a frown, that Shane needed a beer and his back rubbed. The way Shane always knew not to comment when Kian was having a bad hair day.

How Kian wanted to hold his hand, sometimes. So badly it hurt. That it hurt worse knowing he couldn't. That when Shane gave him that secret smile, Kian knew when it meant 'I love you', and when it meant 'I'm sorry'.

“Come up here,” he urged. Shane slid off with a teasing lick, looking up at him.

“What?”

“Just...” Kian sighed. “I don't...” Shane was up in an instant, concern written in his touch. Kian pulled him in close, felt a kiss brush his throat.

“What's wrong?”

“I miss you,” he admitted. “Miss you so much it hurts.”

“I'm right here.”

“I know.” His hand slipped between them, felt Shane. Hard and heavy against his palm when he pressed and rolled, heard a pleased growl.

Shane's trousers were shimmied down moment later. They wrapped together, Shane breathing slow kisses into his skin when Kian got a hand around them and began to stroke, trying to find the perfect rhythm for both of them.

“There,” Shane muttered. “Oh, there.”

“Yes.” He caught Shane's mouth in a hard kiss. “Yes.” Hands stroked down over his shoulders, clung to his back, fingers digging in for desperate purchase. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Shane croaked. His hips were finding the beat of it. Kian sucked at his mouth, peppered kisses up his cheek, lapped away the sweat beading near his temples. Shane was gasping against his ear, lust giving way to desperation. “Kian...”

“Stay with me,” Kian pleaded. “I don't want to be apart for Christmas.”

“Me either. I just...” A muffled cry bloomed in his shoulder.

“I need you.”

“Need you,” Shane agreed. “Baby I'm...” Teeth bit into his neck. “Don't stop. Don't.”

Kian nodded, free hand grasping at dark hair. Pulled together, like they had been before, shuffling an awkward dance while they both tried to keep their feet. He could still hear the music, faster now. Laughter and love, candlelight and candy canes. A giant, beautiful ballroom, filled with people.

The two of them, rutting furiously against each other in a cluttered storage room, a folding chair stopping the door.

Shane whined against him, a soft prayer.

Kian knew where he'd rather be. Where he'd always choose to be.

“Always you,” he whispered. The sound Shane made was probably agreement. A hand slid down the back of his boxers, palming to his arse before a finger slipped over him, rubbing a beat into muscles that clenched against it.

He groaned. Lightning and pressure. Shane was panting, heaving in his arms. Close. Pulling Kian along, speeding him up. It was bloody working. Prickling tension setting claws of heat into his thighs, into his bollocks, sputtering a fire up his clenching stomach. Shane was garbling nonsense into his skin, twitching against his palm. Kian felt them throb together, the heat of him. The finger slipped in, coaxing him faster towards his destination.

“Oh god.” It came out a hoarse quaver. “Oh _Shane_...”

“Yes,” Shane whispered, as though it was him who was stroking them, as though it wasn't Kian who was apparently in charge. “Feel you.”

“Fuck.” He gulped. “Love you. Love you, love you.”

Shane's reply was a breathless yelp. Kian kissed him hard, felt a cry stammer against his tongue, the rush of him, warm and slick, gathering against his hand, against his cock.

He was done then. Collapsed into the mouth still consuming him, into the finger plying him open. Into Shane, holding him tight, wrapped around him, pulling him in. Soft and safe and fond and wanting.

“Jesus,” he giggled. Shane snorted too, and they leaned against each other, faces buried in the others' shoulder, arms looped gentle around each other's waists. Trousers pooled around their ankles. Kian felt ridiculous. Felt wonderful. Shane kissed his ear.

“We'd better...”

“Yeah,” he agreed. They wiped their hands on Kian's boxers, then fumbled their clothes back into place. Looked a mess, probably. Sweaty and a bit unkempt, Shane's hair a tip from Kian's hands carding through it, Kian's trousers wrinkled badly and a bit itchy now he was going commando. They fixed each other up as much as they could manage, Kian lingering over tidying Shane's suit, Shane pressing a kiss to his mouth whenever Kian came close enough.

“Shall we?” Shane put out an elbow. Kian shoved him lightly, got a laugh back.

“We're actually ridiculous, you know that?”

“It's my favourite thing about us.” Shane kissed him again, then let go, slinking towards the door and cracking it open, just a little. “Coast's clear. Come on.”

“You go. I'll sneak out back and find somewhere to toss my boxers.” Shane nodded. “Shane, erm...” He hesitated, saw Shane look over, halfway out the door, skin glistening a little in the hallway light. “I love you, babe. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Shane's smile was small, and affectionate. “See you out there?”

“See you out there,” Kian promised. The door closed.

He sighed, looking down at the sticky boxers in his hand, at the folded chair Shane had removed from under the doorknob.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he murmured, listening to the soft waltz of strings and the sound of Shane's footsteps, echoing down the hallway.

 


End file.
